Page:Willa Cather - The Song of the Lark.djvu/372



N Friday afternoon Thea Kronborg was walking excitedly up and down her sitting-room, which at that hour was flooded by thin, clear sunshine. Both windows were open, and the fire in the grate was low, for the day was one of those false springs that sometimes blow into New York from the sea in the middle of winter, soft, warm, with a persuasive salty moisture in the air and a relaxing thaw under foot. Thea was flushed and animated, and she seemed as restless as the sooty sparrows that chirped and cheeped distractingly about the windows. She kept looking at the black clock, and then down into the Square. The room was full of flowers, and she stopped now and then to arrange them or to move them into the sunlight. After the bellboy came to announce a visitor, she took some Roman hyacinths from a glass and stuck them in the front of her dark-blue dress.

When at last Fred Ottenburg appeared in the doorway, she met him with an exclamation of pleasure. "I am glad you 've come, Fred. I was afraid you might not get my note, and I wanted to see you before you see Dr. Archie. He 's so nice!" She brought her hands together to emphasize her statement.

"Is he? I 'm glad. You see I 'm quite out of breath. I did n't wait for the elevator, but ran upstairs, I was so pleased at being sent for." He dropped his hat and over coat. "Yes, I should say he is nice! I don't seem to recognize all of these," waving his handkerchief at the flowers.

"Yes, he brought them himself, in a big box. He brought lots with him besides flowers. Oh, lots of things! The old Moonstone feeling,"—Thea moved her hand back and